


The Ridiculous Quirks of Quartermasters and Double-Ohs

by Cinderscream



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond doesn't get along with Q's cats, Bond kinda likes that, Eve is a troll, He's convinced they're going to murder him, M doesn't care, M/M, Poor Tanner doesn't even know what's going on, Q has the biggest mug collection, Q is a badass, Q-branch may take over the world with Q as their leader, also, he just wants everyone to get back to work, he takes no shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinderscream/pseuds/Cinderscream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their relationship, Bond and Q have learned to deal with their many quirks. Even the ridiculous ones. </p>
<p>Or the one wherein I write a series of headcanons and AU's featuring Bond and Q's unorthadox relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cat Worshipper

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo and welcome to this thing. If you so happen to like it, it would be benificial for you to give me ideas cuz I only have a few right now.

The first time Bond visits Q’s flat, he expects it to be a quaint little place set up with the latest in technological advances. What he finds is quite different.

 It’s actually a bit bigger than he imagined and there’s tad less technology than he would have expected. Q admits to having two spare computers stashed under his bed aside from the one that occupies the space on his bedside table, a tablet (or two), and sleek desktop that can be seen in the corner of his living room.

 Doctor Who, Star Trek, and Star Wars seem to fight for dominance in the cupboard in the form of mugs. Bond is almost intimidated by the amount of faces staring back at him every time he goes to make Q’s morning tea (when they have time for it, which is, thankfully, not very often). The pots and pans look somewhat unused, though Bond is very aware of Q’s skills as a chef, not to mention his own. It’s all just a matter of how much time they have and often it’s not much.

 The charcoal-grey couch is likely one of the most comfortable things he’s sat on (which is saying something, considering the many wonderful, foreign couches he’s sat on over the years), and he loves watching Q tap away at his laptop in his pajamas.

 However, it’s not often that he even gets to sit on the couch. Often it’s invaded by Q’s ridiculous amount of cats.

 There are a grand total of five cats living in Q’s home, each one more annoying than the last. The youngest of them is a green-eyed Russian blue named Chekov (though Bond has heard Q fondly the little demon Pasha), and it has a thing for clawing at Bond’s trousers. Already, the blue-grey heathen has ruined two of his favorite trousers.

 There’s black cat with (in Bond’s opinion) suspicious yellow eyes named Sherlock. Bond often tells Q that black cats are bad luck and that he should probably get rid of it, but the Quartermaster usually just rolls his eyes at him and tells him to stop being silly. All the same, Bond keeps an eye on the dark-furred feline. Besides, Sherlock always hisses at him and he gets the feeling his presence isn’t much appreciated.

 After Sherlock, there’s a dark brown tabby Q calls Cas. Cas has these striking blue eyes that tend to follow Bond’s every move in an unnerving, calculating way. Bond suspects that Cas would be the cat Q would be holding if he were to turn evil. He tends to keep his distance from Cas.

 Bond has at the very least found a sort of agreement with Q’s lighter brown shorthair, Doctor. As long as Bond doesn’t bother Doctor, Doctor doesn’t bother him. Once, when Q first introduced Doctor to him, Bond had asked, “Doctor what?” He had expected a more elaborate name, to be honest (though the blazing glare Q had thrown his way while drinking from a mug with the TARDIS printed on it should have been indication enough of what the name meant, now that he thinks about it).

 Finally, there’s Yoda, who’s Q’s oldest and Bond’s least favorite. Yoda, an elderly grey tomcat, can tolerate Bond’s presence about as much as Bond can tolerate his. Basically, they pretty much loathe each other. After a particular incident including a bag of flour, the blender, and Q’s favorite pair of socks, it had been decided that they were no longer allowed in the same room together. Which means, while Yoda gets to relax on Q’s lap, Bond gets to glare at him (and the other demon cats) from the smaller, less comfortable blue couch adjacent from Q’s.

 Suffice to say, Bond prefers his place to Q’s.

(However, if he can guess how Q’s keeping his cats alive with the hours he spends in Q-branch; he can poison their food supply, comfort Q, and get him a more manageable pet; something that wouldn't kill him in his sleep. Like a hamster.)


	2. Not Quite Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond doesn't like it when the other double-oh's are around Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After several months of not updating, I bring you chapter two. I am very (not) sorry. \
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except my plotless ideas.

Q notices just a month after they become official.

Bond makes himself at home in Q-branch when he's not away on missions, taking the worn green couch in Q's office as his own. He's a general nuicance, and to Q's annoyance, has taken to scaring the interns. Luckily, he leaves the minions alone (though Q suspects it has more to do with knowing that they could easily gather blackmail from himself than actually knowing they have important work to do). All this is rather normal and expected of a double-oh who has nothing to do. It's when other double-oh's come around that Bond starts acting oddly. 

Just the other day, when 008 had come in for his weapons for his newest mission in Singapore, Bond had hovered behind him with a firm had on Q's shoulder. Q also thinks Bond may have been growling, but he can't be positive.

When he and 001 where discussing something about the latest tracking devises, Bond had walked right in between them and pulled Q away just a bit (actually it was a lot), saying they were standing much too close together. As far as Q knows, he and 001 had been standing at a perfectly reasonable distance.

Bond also doesn't seem to realize than he _can_ , in fact, see the murderous glares he sends at the other double-oh's when they enter Q-branch. They don't seem to mind him much either way, they just gather up their gadgets (at least he gets most of those back) and go off on their way. Q thinks that's what bothers him most, that he's giving them a death glare that would terrify hardened criminals, but it doesn't seem to have even the slightest effect on the other double-oh's.

It's not until he finds himself being dragged away from a slightly bewildered 003 in the shooting range that it hits him.

Bond sees the other double-oh's as threats encroaching on his territory. Q is vaguely amused for by this notion for a total of five seconds before he decides enough is enough and takes matters into his own clever hands.

The next day, Q calls Bond into the specialized shooting range, the one used to test prototype weapons. Q has just finished with one of his newest versions of his Walther when Bond saunters in, a smirk quirking his lips. Q barely spares him a single look before he picks up another gun, loads it, and shoots three deadly accurate shots into his his target.

To the casual observer, Bond doesn't seem too surprised, but Q knows him all too well. His shoulders have tensed the tiniest bit and there is a tad more white surrounding his icy blue eyes than usual. He also catches the twitch of his lip and ever so slowly, Bond's eyebrows reach is hairline.

"And that impressive display of markmanship because...?"

"I can take care of myself", Q answers.

Bond gives him a sharp nod.

"I know."

Q shoots him a baleful glare and asks, "Then why do you insist on acting like a territorial dog when another double-oh so much as look at me?"

"Becuase you're my kitten", Bond replies, his smirk turning into a lecherous grin. Q roles his grey-green eyes at him and turns back to his weapons.

"Get out", he growls irritably at the blond double-oh.

Bond chuckles and joins Q in his weapons testing.


	3. A Blind Man's Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is horribley blind without his glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaoh, long time no see. Sorry bout that. I blame highschool.

Q is hilariously uncoordinated without his glasses.

 On any normal day with his thick specks perched on his pale nose, his stride is as graceful as a bird’s flight is swift. His lithe body seems to glide over the headquarters’ hard tiles, his footsteps mere whispers that are quickly lost in the cacophony that is MI6.

 His fingers, too, are graceful. On days when Bond isn’t on a mission (due to either there being nothing worthy of his presence or he being too injured to attend to it) he loves to watch Q’s agile fingers fly across his laptop’s keyboard. They’re long and quick and so very clever, much like Q himself. It is as if his walk is a dance and his fingers are tapping out an orchestra instead of line after line of code that could throw the world into chaos.

 This doesn’t seem to be a normal day though.

 Q’s glasses are missing. At some point (likely when he had been napping on the ugly but comfortable green couch in his office), someone had up and taken his glasses. He doesn’t have his contacts with him and he can’t see a bloody thing. The lines of code on his computer are impossible to read and when he feels the beginnings of a migraine carving their way into his brain he gives up to go and look for Bond (who just so happens to have his spares).

 It’s suddenly very difficult to find the exit. All the doors look the same and his sense of direction seems to have slipped away with his specs, so now not only is everything blurry and indecipherable, it’s also become impossible to navigate. Frustration, like a thick, stifling blanket, settles on his thin shoulders and makes him snappish. Q’s pale green eyes squint flintily at what he thinks is the doorway and with the determination of a man set on find even the tiniest drop of liquid in an arid desert, he stomps off in that direction. 

 Halfway there he trips over his own feet. The growl of a very cross cat settles in his throat and rips its way from between his clenched teeth. He struggles to get up and when he once again flounders to the floor he lets out a sound that sounds something akin to an angry roar and outraged squawk.

  _To hell with this_ , he thinks. He directs his attention to the Q-branch minions whose stares he can feel on himself.

 “Minion number five!” he snaps, his frustration making his normally neutral voice unusually sharp and harsh.

 Said minion scrambles to his side. Minion number five (whose name is actually Dean Novak) is a handsome young man, just a few years older than Q himself, his sleek hair dark as tar and eyes like desert sand. His height is beyond that of Q’s and with ease, he pulls the young Quartermaster into a standing position.

 “Lead me to Bond”, Q orders gruffly, keeping one thin hand on Minion number five’s muscular arm.

 The road to Bond is paved with much cursing and yelling with the occasional tipping over. Q does most of the cursing ( _Bleeding hell, where the fuck is that wanker_ ) though a few curses slip unfiltered from Minion-five (Q’s clumsy feet sometimes stepping on the minion instead of the floor). Many agents suffer Q’s wrath, his vision so unstable that he ends up mistaking half of MI6 for one James Bond.

 When they finally do find Bond, Minion-five looks like he could do with a good therapist and Q looks more frazzled than anyone has ever seen him. His mop of dark curls his is in complete disarray, giving him the appearance of an aggressive cat who’s puffed out his fur, his usually sharp green eyes are slit to the point they’re almost closed and his lips are pressed in an irritated, straight line. Bond has half a mind to laugh before remembering the last he had teased him about his glasses he’d ended up sharing a couch with Cas and Yoda (who eventually managed to throw him off the bloody couch). This is not an experience he wishes to relive.

 “Hello there, Q, Minion number five. Might I ask; where are your glasses?” The look Q shoots him at his question is enough to burn a very deep hole into a wall.

 “Oh, come off it you bloody arse and give me my spare specs”, Q hisses, the lack of specs straining his eyes and causing a migraine of massive-hangover proportions.

 Bond, with an exasperated sigh, reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pair of glasses identical to the ones that had mysteriously disappeared. However, everyone was afraid to even look Q in the eyes for the rest of the week.

 From then on, it was an official rule (written in the handbook and everything) that no one was allowed to take Q’s glasses.


	4. Megane Much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond has a seriously unhealthy obsession with Q's glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you this and I'm not the least bit sorry.

Bond thinks he may have a problem.

 Seriously, there has to be something wrong with him because no one ( _absolutely no one_ ) should be as obsessed with Q’s glasses as he is. It’s just… Q is just so… how does one put perfection into a coherent sentence? Bond just can’t help it. Q is just damn precious with his glasses. Bond is a man of eloquence and wit but for some reason it all vanishes when he catches Q’s sharp pale, grey-green eyes behind the flash of his glasses. Of course, he tries to rationalize it at first. He fails.

 But then so what if his heart palpitates a little when Q pushes his glasses up with his middle finger in that adorable way of his? He swears he feels _nothing_ when Q wakes up just a little later than him with fluffy sleep-mussed hair ( _it’s not cute, God dammit_ ) and looks at him with those grumpy and squinty green eyes ( _cute and adorable and precious are not words found in a OO-oh’s vocabulary, thank you very much)_ and especially when he fumbles around blindly looking for his glasses. His heart most definitely does not begin to pound in his chest when Q’s elegant hand brushes his when he finally reveals Q glasses are in his possession.

 All of that is a lie of course. His heart palpitates and mimics the beat of drums and affection rises in his throat and seeps warmly into his chest at the mere thought of Q. Q is special and wonderful and amazing and he swears to _any deity at all_ that those blasted glasses will be the death of him. The sheer amount of times Bond’s fantasized of stripping Q of everything excluding his glasses is ridiculous and he really should get a hold of himself. He’s a professional, dammit.

 On days that he’s bored (or should be at home _“resting you stubborn idiot_ ”) he swoops into Q-branch, earning a cacophony of resigned sighs and distrustful _don’t do stupid secret agent things here, if you please, our master and we are busy_ stares. It’s not at all his fault when he stops to admire Q’s elegant back (hell! He’s practically the embodiment of elegance! Bond likes to think of himself as simply the embodiment of grace. It has a nice ring to it). He’s not lying about Q’s back, though. His pale neck seems so delicate, sloping gently into the form of thin shoulders. His pale grey cardigan does not make his slender waist disappear and the tight jeans he decided to wear keeps Bond’s eyes distracted from the silky curls of Q’s dark hair.

 When Q turns to look at him, pink lips twisted into a charming, crooked smile, eyes twinkling and glasses sliding halfway down his nose, Bond can’t help it. He goes up to him, fully intent on ravishing his lips, but instead, finds himself pushing up his glasses. Q looks somewhat befuddled, obviously not expecting _that_ and it’s just such a cute expression on him, Bond gives up on _everything_ and kisses Q’s nose.

 He then promptly turns on his heal, murmuring nonsense about stupid-cute Quartermasters and their stupid-cute glasses. When he’s no longer sight, Minion Number Fifty-two stands up, a look of great triumph on his face.

 “Those who bet “007 does not totally have a thing for the Overlord’s glasses” may now come pay up to those who bet “007 totally has a thing for the Overlord’s glasses”, he announces, his brown eyes alight with smugness.

 Q simply sighs, knowing exactly how he’ll tease James later on.


	5. In which Q is a hella cute barista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn is the new barista at Jame's regular coffee place. He is isntantly smitten.

It's been a long day, he's sure the rest is going to be just as bad, there's a pile of paperwork waiting for him in his office that will probably follow him home and honestly the only thing he can think about is how cute the new barista is. 

The boy has serious deadpan eyes that hide behind flashing, thick framed glasses and James is damn mesmerized by them. His dark, curly hair looks silky soft and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. James thinks he might just fall in love with the boy's clever fingers or his slender frame or the way he practically  _glides_ to his table, coffee and croissant settled carefully on a tray in his pale, spidery hands. 

James flashes him a brilliant smile and the boy (Quinn, according to the name tag on his pale yellow shirt) gives him a polite grin in return. His teeth are perfect and white and his gray-green eyes masks his emotions as if they were the world's greatest mysteries. Dark curls fall softly on his forehead and James has to tear his eyes away from the bounce of silky strands. 

Half an hour later, his lunch hour is gone, only half his coffee's gone, the files on his laptop are mostly unread and he's still staring at the cute barista with the dark hair and green eyes and he is most definitely in trouble. Back in the office, he's distracted by thoughts of swift fingers and those green, green eyes and thin, petal pink lips haunt his night. 

He goes back to that same coffee shop the next day, and the day after that and suddenly it's a month and he feels like Quinn Augustus know more about him than James knows of him. It's not like he doesn't know anything about Quinn, though, which comes as a relief. he knows Quinn has five cats (Pavel, Sherlock, Cas, Doctor, and Yoda), he prefers Earl Gray tea over any type of coffee, and he may or may not be able to hack into literally any computer in the world. That's no what James is concerned about though. 

It's been a month. James still hasn't gotten the nerve to ask ask Quinn out (and yeah he's a little younger-he's twenty-three, James is thirty-nine-he's ridiculously sharp, and he can make a mean cup of coffee) and this troubles him. Quinn shouldn't be a challenge. Quinn shouldn't have broken through his steel-hard armor in less than a month. James is smooth and brilliant and a master of seduction, he should not be reduced to splutters by a man who waxes lyrical about  _cats_ and  _computer code._ Except he is and though he's loath to admit it, James thinks he might  _actually_ have feelings for this boy. 

Well damn. 

Now he's sitting at his usual table, Quinn's on break and they're chattering about the latest Marvel movie. Quinn is tweaking his phone, doing something that will probably make his position as a coffee shop barista seem like nothing more than a hobby and James is fiddling with his watch, thinking about how to phrase the question waiting on his lips. After a while, their conversation reaches a lull and Quinn continues to mess with his phone, a song softly sung under his lips. 

"Hey, so how would you feel about going on a date with me?" James blurts in a rush and oh god that was awful, what the actual fuck, he was supposed to be  _suave._

Quinn just  _looks_ at him, pallid eyes unblinking, and James is just about ready to take it back (and possibly run away, never to return. Ever)when Quinn smiles and; the most genuine and beautiful smile ever. James swears the world comes to a stuttering stop because Quinn's eyes are bright with excitement and wow, yes, he said yes. 

"Bloody hell, I thought you'd never ask", Quinn quips and James doesn't even comment on this fact that his break is almost over because if he has to choose between paperwork and this amazing, fantastic boy, the answer is obvious. 


End file.
